Midnight talks
by Meybell
Summary: Just another idea of how Clove and Cato started getting along.


"Get out of my house!" my father shouts as he pushes me through the halley - forcing my body further without any ray of gentleness. I´m dizzy from being awake by my screaming father, who, after yelling spitfull things at me, dragged me out of my bed to the living room. And now he´s kicking me out of our house.  
Trying to get free of his grip on my wrists, I attempt to pull my arms back and even kick him with my knees; however, all my effort is in vain. No matter how much I try, my drunk ass of a father is much stronger than me and, since I was sleeping when he attacked me, I am harmless - which is, out of all things, what angers me the most. There are a few things I could use in my defence, like a lamp or chair, but not with both hands stuck on his strong grip.  
"Let go of me!" my voice comes out as loud and strong as intended, yet my body keeps being shoved backwards violently. "Someone hel-" his hand hits my cheek and for a matter of seconds all my brain manages to process is pain.  
There is another hit that brings me down to the floor, and for the moments when all I see is black and my body is completly numb, I guess my father managed to drag me through the distance between the halley and the front door; because when I wake up, I´m laying on the hard, cold grass of our garden.  
When I sit up, the cold air hits my body. _Good, another slap. Thank you, mother nature_, I think, frustration taking over me. I don´t even feel anything but physical pain. I did in the first time, and maybe the second too; but after being hitten and yelled at by the man who was supposed to protect us, I think we just get used to the feeling of betrayal.  
My left hand meets my cheek softly, touching it with my fingertips. A low wince passes my lips - I´m sure there will be a couple of bruises adorning my pale skin in the morning - as the pain hits me, once again. To make things even worse, it´s freezing outside and I have nothing but my pijama to keep me warm. I take a deep breath and cupe my hands in front of my mouth, blowing some hot air and then rubbing them together.  
I stand up, stumbling in the first steps I take, and then try to walk back home. To my surprise, the door is locked. Long whines came out of my mouth. What am I supposed to do now? I look around. There are only two options left: staying outside and freeze to the death or find a place to stay for the night.  
Arms wrapped around myself, I make my way down the street.  
My options aren´t large. There is no family to run to whenever my father decides to drink himself until he enters in a state of utter anger and hate towards everything and everyone that appears in front of him. Most of the previous times he tried to attack me I managed to defend myself and lock the door of my bedroom in time. This time though, there was no possible alert and I was caught by surprise. And even when he kicked me out, there was always a way to get back into the house, either by the window or by the door. But because of the cold, the windows are locked and so is the door. Guess I will have to start sleeping with a knife under my pillow again.  
Taking long breaths of air and holding it up in my lungs a bit longer than in normal breathing - a technique that my trainer taught me in case I was in a cold place and there was no warm spots near - I walk into a dark alley. It´s dark, with the exception of a lamp here or there to slightly iluminate the way, but there is movement not far away from where I stand. Music and laughs come from the end of the alley; it´s the unfamous bar of District 2, Gallileus.  
I find no problem in getting into the bar; it´s not like age is something of big value for people around here. Even if anyone tried to block my way, my reputation is good enough to let me in. Or, perhaps, just my rudness.  
Entering Gallileus, the strong scent of alchool makes my eyes burn. Even in a place like Gallileus there isn´t a drop of that bad, cheap alchool people in other Districts have; the bad thing indeed is the people you´ll find here. I´m not interested in alchool as I walk into the bar, yet the strong scent doesn´t leave my nostrils soon.  
I reach the tall chairs in front of the balcony where they serve the drinks. People´s eyes on me remind me that I´m still wearing my pijama - fortunatly though, I managed to pick my shoes before I was forced out of my house -, but I opt for ignoring those looks and focus on what my mission here is. Get a place to stay during the night - which will be easy, because the bar is open 24/7 and from previous experiences, I can say there is no problem in sleeping here.  
My eyes flew around me. The place is disgusting. Well, not really the place, with its comfortable couches and a pleasant music. It´s also warm inside the bar, the open door lets the freshing air come in and kind of prevents the place of overheating. What makes Gallileus such a disgusting and unfamous place is the people who come here. The couches are occupied either by sleeping drunken asses or horny couples that don´t give themselves the work to find a room to continue their obscene activities.  
I move into a more comfortable position in my seat, crossing my legs. The bartender comes to me and asks me what I would like to drink first. My desire for a glass of cold water surprises him a bit, but the young good looking man simply nods and fills my requests. Even though it´s freezing outside and I´m still not warm enough to consider my body´s tempetarure normal, what my brain craves for in the moment is cold water.  
As soon as I take the first sip, feeling the cool liquid run through down throat, a voice aproaches me.  
"Cold water? Not a very usual order down here," that voice, so cocky and husky as I´ve heard it before in the Training Center, causes me to whip my head around to face him.  
Cato Browley is looking right at me, with a tired smirk, but wearing the same expression as always. Even tired, Cato manages to keep his arrogant posture he´s always seen with. It´s like he thinks he is superior to every single human. Cocky bastard, that´s what he is.  
"Oh, hey. Didn´t notice you," I mutter, not feeling in the mood to talk with him. Not that we have ever talked before. In fact, I don´t have idea of why he decide to do it now. Another sip and my eyes fic on the dark wood the balcony is made of, resting my hands on its surface and waiting for Cato to go back to whatever he was doing and leave me alone.  
He does not, though.  
Cato stands up and quickly moves to the chair just beside mine. He asks the bartender another drink by raising his hand and making some kind of sign with it. I wonder how many times he has been here before for the bartender already know his usual request.  
"It´s the first time I see you here this later," says Cato, taking the glass to his mouth and taking the whole liquid into it and then down his throat with a single gulp. "What brought you here, little one?"  
My eyes roll instinctively, due to the hate for such nicknames that people usually give me. "I´m Clove," I tell him, playing with the sleeves of my pijama´s long shirt. "And that´s none of your business, you know."  
"No need to be rude," he smirks at me and shakes his head softly. "I was just asking, ´cause usually girls aren´t seen in places like this unless they´re with someone," one of his eyebrows arches in insinuation.  
I answer quite harshly. "Well, I´m not meeting here with anyone. You know why? I´m not like the other girls, and I surely don´t need a security after me to walk in my own District."  
I notice Cato is a bit taken back by answer, but he quickly puts his mask of coldness and indifference back on his face. "That´s what I thought. But, perhaps, if you had a security you wouldn´t have those ugly marks on your face," his tone is as harsh as mine was before, but there is a hint of something more in there.  
Without my permission, my hands move up to cover my face. Cato chuckles darkly and I grumble. I place my hands on my lap and glare at him.  
"Again, it´s none of your business."  
"That is where you´re wrong, Clove," his lips curl up into what must be his attempt of a smile. "I see those bruises on your face, and I could just ignore them, right?" I nod in response. "Actually, that is what you I should do. But I won´t. We train in the same place and I know you´re tough and no one gets close enough to hurt you like that, so-"  
"Maybe," I interrupt him frantically. My father´s abuse is not something I would like to discuss with a stranger, especially when that stranger is Cato Browley. "I got hurt during train. You´re not the only one sparring, you know?"  
Cato rolls his eyes at me, irritating me even more. I could just move to another chair away from him, and I would do it, if I wasn´t so sure he would follow me. "I saw you today before you left the Center, you weren´t looking that horrible."  
"Oh, thank you," I say sarcastically, narrowing my eyes at him. I raise my eyebrows, just wanting to finish that absurd conversation and find some empty couch where I will get some sleep. "Why don´t you just leave me alone, Cato? It´s not like you care if I get hurt or not."  
Cato nods and raises his hand, repeating the movement he did before. The bartender looks at him and picks a glass, quickly pouring some dark liquid into it. "I will tell you why it is my business," he leans closer, placing his elbow on the counter. He is pratically whispering the words, as if it is a secret he is going to tell me. Just like that, we are so close I can even feel his fresh breath in my mouth. The scent emanating from his body is so overwelming I find myself wondering what mysterious and addicting smell is that. It´s like a mix of masculinity, ment and something else I can´t indentify. The scent enters my nostrills and fills my lungs; it smells just like a new addiction. "I wouldn´t mind if you´re being beat up, darling, if I didn´t knew who does it to you. And if I didn´t suffer just the same disgusting shit."  
The shock is not so immediate since I am so absort of everything else, just staring at his face and asking myself how bad it would be if I kissed him. Then the words finally make since and I don´t stare at him in admiration anymore. Only in shock.  
He smirks at me, seeming to be amused by my surprise. How does he know? And what does he mean with suffering the same shit?  
I shake my head abruptly.  
"You don´t know what you´re saying. Forget it."  
Cato - once again - rolls his blue eyes, causing me to fold my arms. "How ignorant can a person be, Clove? Come on, I´m serious," his eyes fix on me. He is not mocking me or lying just to make fun of me later; I can see it. The big asshole from the Training Center is being honest with me.  
"So, your father beats you too?" the words come out of my lips as a murmur, as I´m afraid that anyone can hear me. He just nods slowly. "And how can you know what he does to me? No one else does."  
Cato shrugs and thrusts his hand into his hair, which looks darker now that one of the lamps above us just merged. "I was passing by your street one day. It was already dark and I was late, and the way to my house was faster by that street, so I went by there," he explains in a smooth tone. "I was walking and out of nowhere I started hearing screams and the sound of things being smashed, so I stopped and looked at the window of the house. You were there."  
Silent settles in between us for what feels like a long time. I look down at my lap, not sure of what to say. It angers me that someone knows that I´m not as strong as I pretend to be, that I have a weakness. But what really pisses me off is that Cato is being nice about it, instead of rubbing it on my face. That thought causes my head to move up and me to talk.  
"So what? My father is an asshole and you know that. You said you suffer the same thing, but really, Cato, who are you trying to kid?" I snap angrily. "Even if it´s true, it doesn´t mean we have to talk. So just let me go, okay?" with that, I stand up and tell the bartender I will pay for the water the next day - yes, I do have to pay for a mere glass of cold water.  
It is when I´m about to turn on my tracks and walk to the couches zone that a strong hand grips around my pulse. A low whine escapes from my lips. My instinct is to jerk my hand out of his reach and step backwards, glaring angrily at Cato. I glance at my pulse and lift the sleeve just a bit, examinating the purple bruise he just touched. His eyes follow mine and he sighs.  
"I´m sorry about that."  
"You didn´t do this," I tell him, pulling the sleeve back down. "It´s fine. Just let me go."  
"Why are you being so difficult?" his forehead creases at the point where there are several wrinkles of confusion on his skin. "I´m just trying to tell you I understand your situation, and you just-"  
"But why would you do that?"  
"Stop interrupting me!" Cato urges and I smile just a bit, because the tone of his voice is not harsh or anything similiar - it´s quite playfull, and it confuses me even more. Everything about Cato confuses me - what is strange, because just minutes ago everything about him angered me. "Can you do that?"  
I nod. "I can try."  
"Good, thank you. Now, sit," he points to the tall chair where I was sitting moments ago, and I shake my head. "Come on. Give me five minutes and then you can go."  
I cross my arms over my chest, taking a few moments extra to answer just to torture him a little more. "Fine. Five minutes, not even one more second."  
Five minutes can be a lot of time, especially if someone is telling you their story. I didn´t know why Cato was trusting me all those things about him - how his parents enjoyed beating the hell out of him and verbally abuse him, or when his older brother spanked him so badly Cato was taken to the Hospital, and he even told me about his ex-girlfriend, who cheated on him with half of the guys he used to train with and he only found out because she got pregnant of one of them - and after all this time I´m still not sure why he did it. But I´m glad Cato trusted me, and that with time we both learned to trust each other a bit more.  
Not much later after that night in Galilleus, my father was found unscousncious on an alley, with several bruises on his face and hands. No one knew what happened to him, but when I asked him if he saw who his attacant was, a small smile spread on my lips as he uttered the words "freak with a sword" and "he threatned to kill me if I ever touched you again".  
It didn´t took me much longer to make Cato´s family a little visit as well.


End file.
